Another piece of Australia’s jigsaw fell into place on Thursday. Steve Smith,
by making his maiden Test century, sealed the fifth batting slot in their
top six for the return Ashes this winter.

Smith is the fourth Australian to make a hundred in this series: the tourists have scored four in all, against England’s five, yet they are lagging 3-0 behind.

A correlation between team success and individual centuries is commonly perceived, but it did not apply either in the last Ashes series in England in 2009, when Australia beat England 8-2 in centuries and lost 2-1 in match results.

Beyond and better than numbers, Smith lit up the second day of the final Test as England slowed the game down, until a wan sun joined him after tea in supplementing the Oval’s floodlights.

It has not been a bright or smiley series: England, burdened with the label of outright favourites, have gone about proving as much with stern determination on slow pitches. But Smith is too jaunty and boyish to be a party to attritional grimness.

At the close of play, as the Australians left the field, Smith was ushered forward by his team-mates in the age-old tradition to lead them off. He smiled – almost beamed – the smile of a fresh-faced and uncynical 24-year-old, before bouncing up the steps like Tigger.

It has taken almost a whole generation for Australia to find an answer to Derek Randall, the Nottinghamshire batsman who played the innings of his life in the Centenary Test of 1977, but at last they have. For not only does Smith disturb the gravity of a Test match with his smiling, like Randall did: he fidgets every bit as much too.

A more fidgety fidget than Smith, indeed, has probably never played a Test match. He veers to the opposite extreme of England’s captain Alastair Cook, who is impassive and minimalist in his movements.

When Smith takes a run – and he is electric between the wickets – his limbs fly in several directions simultaneously. But he does not stop to draw breath if it is his turn to take strike: oh no, having done his running, he embarks upon a routine that is tiring to watch once, never mind to repeat several hundred times.

First Smith marks his guard again, several times over, by sawing his bat through the crease’s earth. Imagine Jonathan Trott going through his repertoire – his tour de force – before his first ball, then fast-forward it, and Smith does that every ball.

After re-marking his guard, and giving his partner a thumbs-up if his partner has scored the last run, Smith pats his helmet more than once with his left glove, checks his box is in place, touches each of his pads, and fiddles with both gloves. Only then does he get down to patting his bat in the crease, which has to be worth at least half a dozen nervous twitches.

So between a dozen and 20 distinct manual movements and gestures are required between each delivery that Smith faces. And if the bowler should abort his run-up or other delays arise – as England made sure they did by asking the umpires every few minutes whether the ball was too damp – then Smith has to go through his routine again.

When he emerged for New South Wales as a leg-spinner who batted, Smith was one of several to be labelled Shane Warne’s successor. (He could not bowl off-spin: far less energy would be involved.) But Australian cricket was losing great batsmen, and vacancies arose, so Tigger put up his paw.

His 77 against Pakistan in the Headingley Test of 2010 was the first hint of his batting potential. It was a witty innings, played on a difficult pitch with tail-enders for company: he had to find a way to score quickly, and he used his wits to do so.

In the interim Smith has tightened his defence. He now bends his front knee, instead of keeping it stiff, which has reduced the gap between his bat and pad. He has sobered a little, without losing that Randallesque exuberance.

And when he reached 94, the enfant terrible could be restrained no more.

Fast hands, good footwork, some boyish panache flavoured by a fit of impishness, all combined to hit Trott straight back over his head for six.

At the tea interval shortly afterwards, he no doubt bounced up the pavilion steps into the Australian dressing room and asked for honey.